


All I want for Christmas

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [14]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Miller and Bellamy friendship, Miller the perfect wingman, Santa fetish? Is that a thing?, Seasonal Smut, Smut and Fluff, Some praise kink and slightly dom/sub vibes, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy drunkenly tells Miller what he really wants for Christmas.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Nathan Miller, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 21
Kudos: 206





	All I want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to a festive smutty Saturday! Again, just pretend that the Ark never showed up and our faves are living peacefully at the dropship camp. Huge thanks to Stormkpr as always for betaing this. Happy reading!

Bellamy knows he has only himself to blame.

It was his idea to celebrate Christmas. It's a festival that has largely fallen out of favour on the Ark, but he was keen to get the dropship camp to give it a try. He knows first hand from raising Octavia how powerful a good celebration can be in boosting the mood of a captive audience. Not to mention, he saw how excited they all got about Unity Day. So making a big deal about Christmas seemed like a perfect plan – Clarke even agreed with him without argument for a change.

But he should have known he was just asking for trouble.

The problem is, everyone wants to give him presents, don't they? All the admirers who shared his bed back in the beginning, and don't understand why he's no longer interested. All the younger kids who see him as a big brother or father figure and want to say thanks. And then his precious few actual friends, who don't seem to understand that their genuine joy is all the gift he could ever ask for.

Well, that and Clarke gazing at him in adoration. He'd take that, too, but he knows it's never going to happen.

It's Christmas Eve now, by their reckoning, and the first of the festivities is in full swing. There's to be a bit of a moonshine party tonight, then the biggest meal they can muster tomorrow. It's going pretty well, all things considered – Bellamy is pleasantly tipsy, having dared to drink more than at Unity Day now he knows that the treaty with the grounders is solid.

OK. He might be more than _pleasantly tipsy_. He might be seriously considering going and telling Clarke she looks beautiful when she argues with him. No. Bad thought. Mustn't do that.

He dodges Bree and goes in search of Miller. Miller won't ask him what he wants for Christmas. Bellamy knows that Miller has made him a nice practical hunting knife, like a good brother in arms. And Bellamy has sewn him a little fur hat to replace his beanie, and this is what friendships on the ground should be made of.

In fact, Miller is such a good friend that he finds Bellamy. He walks straight up to him by the fire, slaps him heartily on the shoulder and steers him to a quieter corner of camp.

"Saw you swerve Bree there. She on the case about gifts again?" Miller asks.

Bellamy nods. "Yeah. She can't believe I don't want her to get me anything."

Miller laughs. "Oh come on, Bellamy. There must be _something_ you want." He sings, in his most wheedling tone, eyelids fluttering.

Bellamy chuckles, merry with moonshine. "I can't very well tell Bree that all I really want for Christmas is Clarke in a sexy Santa outfit telling me I've been a good boy." It's a joke, of course. Or rather, it's the absolute truth, but it's supposed to come out _sounding_ like a joke.

Needless to say, it doesn't.

Never mind. Miller knows about his feelings for Clarke. Not because he's ever actually said it outright before, but just because it's _there_ , obvious, the unspoken subtext to his every word and action.

"A sexy Santa outfit?" Miller pushes, brows raised.

"Yeah. You know, like in Mean Girls." It's a classic old Earth movie – everyone on the Ark must have watched it, right? "And then she'd be teasing me about whether I've been naughty or nice, that kind of thing. And -"

And he should probably stop right there. Miller isn't even into women, for goodness' sake. He doesn't want to hear Bellamy drunkenly rambling about impossible fantasies.

He's a good friend, so he doesn't actually laugh. He just pats Bellamy bracingly on the back.

"S'OK, man. We all have our preferences."

Bellamy chokes somewhat on his drink. "You won't tell anyone, right? I'd be so embarrassed." He admits, cheeks heating. It's all very well _having_ fantasies of sexy Santa Clarke praising him and adoring him and all, but he wouldn't want anyone to _know_ about them.

"I won't embarrass you." Miller agrees easily.

That's a very particular choice of words. If Bellamy were more sober, he might notice that. But as it is, he only stares into his drink and tries not to imagine Clarke in a little red dress.

…...

The following morning is quiet. Most of the kids are slightly hung over, but not totally unwell. Bellamy was pretty sensible with the moonshine rations – enough for everyone to get a buzz on, but not so much as to ruin Christmas or fill up their makeshift med bay.

He gets the meat started on the roasting pit, then heads to give Clarke her present. He wasn't sure what to get her – he remembers Finn used to get her pencils, but he didn't want to look like he was copying. So he's gone for a wolf pelt – a good one – that he killed and cleaned himself. It's silver, almost slightly blue in the right light, and he thinks it'll bring out the colour in her eyes.

Crap. No. That's not what he thinks at all. He thinks it'll be warm for her bed. Her cold, solitary bed, that he wishes she'd invite him to sleep in.

Right. Yes. So he's got her a wolf pelt.

He heads to her tent, announces his presence in a stage whisper.

"Clarke? You awake?"

"Yeah. You want to come in?"

He does. He slips through the door of the tent, pelt outstretched in his hands.

"Merry Christmas." He offers, shoving the gift at her with no attempt at subtlety.

"This is beautiful. Is this really for me? I remember when you brought this back to camp. You looked so smug – you really want me to have this?"

Damn her. Why does she always see straight through him? So maybe he was proud of this kill. Maybe it means something to him. And maybe there's something a little alpha male about the fact he's trying to give the woman he has a crush on the pelt from a kill he's proud of.

He just nods, biting his lip.

"Thanks, Bellamy. It really is beautiful."

He nods again. "You're welcome, Princess. Wanted you to have a nice gift." Did that sound inane? He thinks that might have sounded inane.

She smiles cautiously, pulls him in for a hug. He doesn't get a lot of skin-on-skin contact out of the hug because there's a shaggy wolf pelt in the way, but it's the thought that counts, he supposes. And he does get to smell her hair, so there's that.

"I was planning on giving you your gift later." She says when she pulls away, not meeting his eyes.

He feels himself sag in disappointment. He's pretty sure that's an excuse. It _sounded_ like an excuse. They're really close friends – at least he thinks they are – and he gave her a lovely pelt he's proud of, and she hasn't even got him anything?

When he said he didn't need gifts, maybe he didn't entirely mean that. Maybe he was rather hoping that Clarke at least would have got him something thoughtful.

"Sure. That's fine. You know you don't have to get me anything." He lies through a stiff smile.

"I wanted to, though. I'll bring it to your tent later?"

He nods, eyes on the toes of his boots, and then turns on his heel and leaves.

…...

It's a decent Christmas, all things considered. The kids certainly have a good time – he was right to think that a celebration would lift their spirits. And Octavia gives Bellamy a book she's scavenged from some ruined building nearby, so that's something.

That's the kind of thoughtful gift he expected Clarke to give him, if he's being honest.

He tries to shake off his disappointment. He eats a hearty meal, urges the kids to eat seconds and even thirds. They have the meat, these days – they've got rather better at hunting. He plays at various games with the youngsters, and even finds himself orchestrating a whole-camp game of charades. It's chaos, of course, with kids shouting answers over each other and no one knowing who's winning.

But what's wrong with a little chaos?

The celebrations stretch into the night, but he's not keen to stay up too late. He's tired, the hangover of yesterday and the lingering disappointment of today catching up with him. He makes his apologies to the group at large and starts heading to his tent.

Clarke steps into his path half way.

"You're going to bed now?" She asks, not meeting his eyes.

This is odd, he thinks. She's normally prepared to face him down with confidence.

"Yeah." He responds, because he is.

"Great. Let me just go fetch your gift." She says, ever more shifty.

"You got me something?" He asks, delighted. He really did think it was all a ruse.

"Yeah." Her voice sounds croaky. "I got you something. Just – wanted to give it to you in private."

He frowns. That sounds odd. What does she need to give him in private? And why couldn't she have given it to him when they were alone in her tent this morning, anyway? Or is it just that it's something he'll really like – another book, perhaps – and she wants them to be alone so that he can gush over it at the appropriate length without being interrupted?

"OK. Yeah, sure. I'll be in my tent." He tells her, trying not to get too excited.

Maybe Clarke does value his friendship after all. Not that the value of a gift and the value of a relationship should correlate, necessarily. He just thinks that getting someone something thoughtful is an obvious way of showing you care.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be right there." She babbles, evidently nervous.

He places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Clarke. Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll love it." He reassures her earnestly.

She smiles a tight smile, and then flees.

…...

Bellamy is starting to get nervous now, too. It's been a good ten minutes since that strange encounter with Clarke, and still no sign of her. If his tent were bigger, he'd be pacing the floor in distress. He's not used to seeing Clarke lose her composure like that – she's the most confident person he knows. So he's rather worried about her, really.

At last, there is the sound of familiar footsteps outside his tent.

"Bellamy? Can I come in?" Clarke asks, voice shaking.

"Yeah. Sure. Come on in. Is everything OK? Are you -?"

He breaks off, breathless and rather confused. Because Clarke has just walked into his tent wearing that wolf pelt he gave her earlier.

More specifically – she's wearing the wolf pelt _and nothing else_.

His mouth goes dry. There's a lot of leg on show, here. And a lot of shoulder and collarbone, and she's sort of got the fur wrapped around her middle like a very immodest toga. Has she just walked across the camp like that? What's wrong?

Has someone stolen her clothes? He knows Jasper likes a prank, but this seems a bit far.

"Clarke?" He asks. He's not sure what he's asking, only that he desperately wants the answer.

"The supply depot was all out of sexy Santa outfits." She croaks out, eyes on the floor.

He gasps. This isn't happening. This _can't_ be happening. Dreams don't come true – he's been convinced of that for years.

Then why the hell is Clarke standing in his tent half-naked and talking about sexy Santa outfits?

"Clarke?" He asks again, ever more desperate. His mouth is dry and he can hear his heart roaring in his ears. "What – what is this?"

"This is your Christmas present. Because you've been really good this year." She gets the words out, a little brittle, but firm.

Almost as if she's been practising.

He groans. He doesn't even bother questioning it any further. There's no way this is a prank or any such thing – Clarke is too good-hearted for that. If she's here acting like she wants to sleep with him, that must mean she wants to sleep with him.

Wow.

He just hopes she really does _want_ to. He hopes this isn't just her trying to give him a gift out of obligation. He'd never forgive himself if he took advantage of her kind nature.

He steps forward, cups her cheek with a hand. He angles her head a little, forces her to look him right in the eyes and see the joy he knows she will find there. He wants to reassure her that she's got this right, that her practice of that one precious line was more than adequate.

"You really want to do this?" He checks carefully.

She nods, biting her lip. "Yeah. You deserve it. You've been so good. You take such -"

"No." He interrupts her, firm. "I mean – do you actually _want_ to do this? I don't want you to be saying yes out of obligation or whatever."

She nods again, this time breaking into something of a smile. "Yeah. Sorry – I honestly do. I was just trying to stick to the script."

That has them both laughing softly, the tense mood broken. All that's left is a rather better kind of tension – the delicious tension that comes with knowing what they're about to do here, rather than the awkward tension of wondering whether rejection is around the corner.

"OK. So – let's do this." He says, hardly daring to believe it's truly happening. "You can drop the act if you want, you know. I can see it's making you uncomfortable."

"It's not _just_ an act." She fires back, eyes bright. "I really do think you're a good guy. And I think you've been _so_ good to all of us since we started building a life here. It's only – I don't know. I'm not used to saying it to you. It felt a little strange. I had to practise."

That makes him treasure her all the more, really. The idea she cared enough about making this special for him that she actually practised a bunch of cheesy lines has his heart doing funny somersaults in his chest.

"That's OK." He soothes, daring to run his fingers gently over her bare shoulders. They are about to have sex, after all, so he figures a little harmless touching is probably not going to make him look too foolishly besotted. "Just – act how you want, alright? I know you'll do great."

She nods, visibly relaxing slightly, straightening her shoulders a little. This is it – this looks more like the Clarke he knows so well.

"Is there anything in particular you want from me?" He asks. That seems only fair, and he'd like to make Clarke happy.

"I don't know. I don't think so. Honestly I didn't think much beyond showing up here and saying some lines about a sexy Santa outfit." She laughs, loosening up, becoming more her usual self by the second.

He grins. "I have some ideas, if you want to try them? I may have thought about this once or twice."

"I've been trying not to let myself think about it too much." She jokes easily.

This is good. This is going to go really well. Clarke is relaxed, and she's in his tent, and the sex is going to be great. He's got everything under control – he's going to kiss her, and then he's going to go down on her, and then he's going to screw her slowly. And he's going to execute all those things with technical perfection, and see if he can get her to tell him how _good_ he is at least once or twice more. And he's going to be competent, and composed, and -

And Clarke's just dropped that fur from around her. She's just literally _dropped_ it, and now she's standing in the middle of his tent with a teasing light in her eyes.

"See something you like?" She asks.

"I – you -" OK. He's speechless. And what of it?

He tries to act, seeing as he can't talk. He steps forward, reaches for her, hands outstretched.

She dodges him. "Nope. Not yet. You don't want to open all your presents all at once, do you? Lie down for me."

He grins. He's a little frustrated, sure. But he's also kind of amused and very much turned on. This is everything he ever dreamed of when he thought of Clarke doing some sexy Santa routine – and it is _more_ , because it actually sounds natural and authentically _her_ , not like the staged lines she started out with.

So he does as she asks and lies willingly on his bed roll.

She doesn't make him wait. She leans over, kisses him briefly and beautifully on the lips. He tries to follow her as she pulls away, but she makes it quite clear with a firm hand on his shoulder that he's not to go anywhere, thank you very much.

He obeys, of course. He's determined to be good for her.

She scoots down the bed, kneels between his legs. Unbuckles his belt, opens up his trousers, lets his cock spring free.

"Clarke?" He asks, hoarse.

"Sorry. Just admiring it." She teases cheerfully.

He wants to laugh, but he can't. He's too stunned at the idea that Clarke thinks his cock is worthy of admiration. Sure, he knows it's not exactly the worst cock in the world, but to have her gazing at it like this?

It's a lot. It's a lot, and this whole evening as been a lot, and he's pretty worried he might come the moment she starts touching him, like some green teenager.

He nearly does, in fact. She takes him eagerly down her throat and he nearly falls apart right then. He takes some deep breaths, tries to think delaying thoughts. He wants to make Clarke happy, too – he's almost _anxious_ to do so, in fact. That's enough to hold him on edge, he hopes.

He groans a loud groan, tangles his fingers in Clarke's hair and urges her to take him deeper. This is incredible – incredible that it's happening at all, but incredible too that it feels so easy, so seamless, almost as if they have practised a thousand times and Clarke already knows what he likes.

"Yeah." He moans, bucking his hips up into her mouth. "Yes, Clarke. Uhh. There."

She pulls her mouth away for a moment, works the length of him lazily with her hand while she asks him a difficult question.

"Is this what you want for Christmas, Bellamy? Want me to make you come down my throat?"

He swallows a sticky swallow, cock throbbing in her hand at the sound of those words on her lips. Is that what he wants for Christmas? It's close, but not quite.

"I want to taste you." He tells her, plain and simple. "I want to make it good for you, too."

She frowns. "It's supposed to be _your_ gift."

He laughs, a little self conscious, a lot turned on. "Trust me, that would still be a gift for me. I'd really like to try it, if you're up for that."

She nods eagerly. And then it's like she remembers the role she is still half-playing – or perhaps almost naturally _living_ , and adopts a slightly more cool and collected attitude.

"We can do that if you're sure you want to."

"I am." He confirms.

So that's that. Clarke nods, lies back on the furs. And Bellamy strips his clothes off without ceremony – it really is getting hot in here, and he wants to feel skin against skin if Clarke should happen to clamp her legs around his shoulders. He's sort of hoping she might fancy doing that.

Then he scoots along and nestles eagerly between her legs. He's looking forward to this, and he's also glad of a short break from Clarke working on his cock. He doesn't want to come so soon and ruin the party. It will do him good to switch it up for a few moments, he thinks.

He smiles briefly up at Clarke, sees the confidence and anticipation bright in her eyes. She looks so _right_ in his bed, he thinks. He has a feeling she'll be coming back here again – or at least, she will if he gets any say in the matter. And he loves this personality she's wearing in the bedroom, more sexy than any damn Santa dress. It's such a heady mix of her usual confident decisiveness and a little nervous vulnerability, and it's playing dangerous games with his heart.

"Thank you for giving me this." He says, nodding at her pussy. "Best gift ever." He's sort of trying to keep up the playful atmosphere and check she's ready for him to get started, both at once.

She reaches down to play with his hair, grinning widely. "Any time. You deserve it."

He knows she's at least half messing around, that she's trying to keep the joke running, too. But it shoots straight to his cock all the same – and most worrying of all, he fears, shoots straight to his heart, as well. It's all too easy to believe this is more than a bit of fun sex, when she goes and says gentle, heartfelt things like that.

He gets to work, teasing her with his tongue, settling in gently. And once he knows she's relaxed and ready, he gets a little more forceful, sucking lightly and even urging her to grind against his chin.

He's done this a lot of times, with a lot of women. He knows he's technically competent at it. But nothing in all his years as a sexually active guy has prepared him for the moment Clarke starts giving him feedback.

"That's so good, Bellamy. God. You're incredible."

Incredible? He's _incredible_? That's – that's a nice little bonus Christmas gift.

Confidence bolstered, he takes it slightly faster, slightly harder.

"Yeah. Yeah, there. That's so good."

His cock twitches. He rubs it slightly against the makeshift mattress beneath him, but it's not enough. He needs more.

He needs _Clarke_.

"Good." She pants. "Good. So good. Yeah. Yea -"

She seems surprised by her own orgasm, if the way she breaks off half way through a word is anything to go by. She comes with a sort of urgent gasp and a wave of contractions that shakes her whole body, and squashes his nose slightly – but he's really far too happy to care.

Happy, and also _horny_. His cock is begging for some attention.

He sits up, rocks into a kneeling position on his heels. His hands find Clarke's thighs and hold them, grounding her, waiting for her to tell him how she's getting on.

"That was _awesome_." She tells him simply. "You definitely deserve a good gift now."

He smirks slightly. He's _awesome_. And yes, he's been fully aware that he has something of a craving for Clarke's praise and approval for a while now. But it turns out that her praise and approval in bed is good for his soul on a whole new level.

He plays his part. He waits, patient, still sitting on his heels. He knows how this works – he has to be good, and if he's good, she'll give him his reward.

"You want to fuck me?" She offers with a pert smile.

"Yes, please." He swallows. "Please can I fuck you, Clarke? Please?"

"Since you asked nicely." She nods, teasing, reaches out to stroke a gentle finger down his cheek.

He smiles broadly at her. He simply can't help it. He never realised this would be so much _fun_. He knew it would be hot, if it ever happened. There's a reason he's been fantasizing about it since at least November. And if he's being honest, he knew it would speak to something deep in his soul – that desperate need to be valued and praised, to have some overt and generous approval for once in his life. That need to be looked after, too – he's spent his whole life looking after others, and so he craves someone taking care of him like nothing else.

But he never realised it would be fun in this pure and simple way, too. Just two good friends playing games with their sex life.

He doesn't waste time. Now she's given him permission to claim his gift, he settles himself in place and eases his cock inside of her. She's all warm and wet from his work with his mouth, and it feels incredible. He knows on a logical level that it doesn't feel much different from any other vagina he's ever spent time with, but somehow, in this moment, it hits harder.

"That's good, Bellamy." Clarke reassures him softly. "I'm OK. You can start moving."

He does. He takes her at her word and starts moving _quickly._ Firmly, too, and with a certain kind of urgency. He's not going to last long, here – Clarke has been driving him to distraction since the moment she walked in here.

"Talk to me." He begs, huffing the words out as he struggles for breath.

She knows what he means right away, of course. She's always been frighteningly good at understanding him.

"Feels so good." She mutters in his ear. "Love how good you make me feel, Bellamy."

She heaves in a couple of shaking breaths, panting against his skin so hard it makes him shiver. He moves ever faster, coaxes her ever closer. He can feel her legs starting to tremble around him, can hear her struggling for breath.

And yet still she manages to give him what he craves.

"Perfect. There. So good."

She gives him slightly more warning, this time. Just a second in which she digs her nails into his butt cheek, goes tense in his arms. And then she's falling apart, clenching around him, and he relaxes and lets himself fall over the edge with her at last.

He stays on top of her when he's done – and inside her, too, for now at least. He lies there, while she strokes a gentle hand up and down his back. He likes being held like this – it's lovely, soothing, and just the thing for a nice calm moment in the warm afterglow of sex.

He knows they can't stay comfortably silent like this forever, though. If nothing else, he knows he needs to address the metaphorical elephant in the room. He needs to acknowledge that they just half-acted a fantasy of his, and that it's not necessarily a fantasy that everyone would associate with the strong leader he claims to be by day. He supposes Clarke can't find it too weird – she did buy into it pretty wholeheartedly, as far as he can tell. But now that the arousal has passed, there's nothing but cold air and the sound of Clarke's slowing breaths to distract him from his insecurities.

He ought to say something. Should he start with a thank you, perhaps? Or an apology? Or -

"I really am sorry about the Santa outfit." Clarke offers quietly – and apparently with utter gravity.

He decides to take it at face value. "That's OK. You still pulled off the most important parts." He reassures her, because frankly, the whole Clarke-as-decision-maker thing was always of far more importance than seasonal lingerie.

"It was OK?"

"It was _perfect_." He tells her, because really, he doesn't see the sense in lying about it.

He feels her relax slightly beneath him, and decides he's probably indulged his wish to lie here long enough. He slips out of her and slides none too elegantly off of her, then welcomes her into his side for a cuddle.

She curls right into his chest, so he supposes that's pretty encouraging. He gathers his courage, has a go at saying something rather important.

"If there's anything you're into and want to explore, we could try that too. Maybe as a New Year's gift." He suggests with careful lightness.

"Thanks. That could be fun." She swallows. "You really don't have to get me a New Year's gift, though."

He takes a deep breath. "Maybe it doesn't have to be a gift. Maybe we could just do it because we both want to – if you do, of course."

She presses a kiss to his collarbone, which he thinks is an interesting development. "I'd like that." She says simply.

"Great. Well – anything you want to try, let me know."

She is silent for a moment. He wonders if it's more a thoughtful silence or a hesitant silence – or maybe a bit of both.

"I enjoyed that." She says at last. "Or at least, I did once I lightened up a bit and stopped worrying about exactly which words to use. Just tried to be... me. Only more."

"It was really hot. I was so into it." He admits, with a brief self-deprecating chuckle.

"Thank god. It could have been really embarrassing if you weren't."

"You're telling me that? Imagine how embarrassed I've been, holding onto this for the last couple of months."

"Couple of months?" She presses, laughing affectionately.

He realises his mistake, but decides he doesn't much care. So what if she knows he's been having Christmas-themed fantasies about her for a solid eight weeks? They're on the same page now, right?

He decides not to answer her in words, in the end. He just hugs her a little tighter and presses a kiss to her hairline.

"How did you know, anyway?" He asks thoughtfully. "Did you overhear me talking about it? Did you somehow overhear me _dreaming_ about it?"

"Miller told me." She says simply.

"I'll kill him." He threatens without heat.

"No. He was very careful – he said he'd only promised not to _embarrass_ you. And the way he saw it, he was making both of us happy, not embarrassing anyone."

"Making _both of us_ happy?" He presses.

She snorts. "He may have been aware of my feelings for you."

Bellamy grins, pecks Clarke on the forehead once more. He's all for the kind of heated kisses that lead to sex, but there's something rather special and comforting about these little platonic pecks. They're the kind of kisses he can't imagine sharing with a casual hook-up – they're kisses that mean something.

He wonders where to steer this conversation next. There doesn't seem any point in pressing Clarke to say more about those _feelings_ – he knows she keeps her cards close to her chest, where her emotions are concerned, so he doesn't want to pressure her on that front tonight. They've established they feel _something_ for each other, and that's a good enough place to start.

As ever, Clarke has something to say. His Clarke isn't one to mince words.

"No pressure, but do you think you'll be ready for round two any time soon?" She asks lightly. "I really enjoyed that and it won't be Christmas again till next year. I want to make the most of it."

He snorts out a surprised laugh. "You liked it that much? I'm sure we can find other excuses for you to put me in my place in bed."

"I don't think it was that part. I think it was more about giving out gifts and telling you that you deserved them. You honestly are a good guy, you know."

He finds his eyes growing a little damp at that, which is silly. She's only paying him a sweet compliment – that's no reason to get quite this emotional. And anyway, didn't he decide earlier that gift giving does not actually define a relationship?

"Thanks, Clarke. You too. You're making that one fur look a little pathetic here, aren't you? I'll try to make it up to you." He says, heart in his throat, holding her tight.

She kisses his collarbone a few more times, then lies still for a couple of seconds. And yet, as ever, she is not inclined to stay silent for long.

"This wasn't really your gift, you know. I couldn't decide – I was sort of wondering about making some kind of move, and Miller kept encouraging me. But your real present is something else. Left it behind in my tent when I came over, though – I was so nervous I forgot all about it."

"Clarke Griffin, nervous?" He teases, with another of those lovely domestic pecks on the forehead.

She chuckles slightly. "Don't you want to know what it is? I can go fetch it if you want."

"You're not going anywhere until morning." He tells her, mock stern. "And I don't need a gift. You're all I want." He admits.

"I'm going to tell you about it at least." She insists, because of course she does. "I got you a notepad. I know you love telling your Greek myths to the younger kids and I thought maybe you might want to write them down. I think it could be good for you to spend some quiet time for yourself doing something you enjoy. Like I do with my drawing." She suggests quietly.

He swallows thickly. There she goes again – making him tear up when he's supposed to be feeling uncomplicated happiness, damn it. But no one's ever done anything like that for him before – given him not just a gift he will _like_ , but a gift that might honestly help him to grow into a happier, healthier person.

He was more or less right in what he said to Miller, he thinks. Clarke is all he could ever want for Christmas. But not Clarke in a Santa outfit, or Clarke in a role. No – Clarke in his arms and in his heart and in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
